


All’s well that ends well

by Ally_cat_writer (That_phan_who_writes_stuff)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Drug Addiction, F/M, Gen, Gore, Implied Torture, M/M, Serial killer!Dean Winchester, The Winchester’s are Bad People and do Bad Things, dub-con, prison!au, romantic relationships definitely take a back seat and aren’t very healthy, tw drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 14:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20229523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_phan_who_writes_stuff/pseuds/Ally_cat_writer
Summary: Henriksen regarded the man slumped before him with something similar to pity.“It’s all in your head, Dean. You think you’re doing the right thing, but innocent people are getting killed.”Chains clattered as Dean let his hands drop into his lap. Golden-eyes met the agent’s steadily. Defiant. Arrogant, even. Dean would not be the first to look away.If only they knew what he’d saved them from.





	All’s well that ends well

**Author's Note:**

> Some disclaimers:  
1\. This is an AU in which Dean is a serial killer and Sam is an arsonist. If gore/blood/murder, violence, generally unhealthy relationships, drug use, swearing, sexual assault references, suicide, and borderline abuse/sexual assault dynamics bother you, I suggest you don’t read. This fic deals a lot with pain and the consequences of it, so be warned. Not many happy endings or rainbows.  
2\. This is not a wincest fic! While the focus of this story is the relationship between the brothers, I do not write, ship, or support a romantic relationship between Sam and Dean.  
3\. While Cas is present in this story and has a sexual relationship with Dean, this is by no means a Destiel fic. As previously stated, the plot revolves mostly around the relationship of the two brothers, so while Cas and Ruby do show up and play important roles, their relationships with Sam and Dean are not central and are not given as much “screen” time  
4\. I have almost no knowledge about the court system and prison, so please forgive any inaccuracies. Feel free to leave a comment pointing out things I can fix.  
5\. This is a living work! Aka, y’all are my betas and I am willing to edit the hell out of it. If you see any inaccuracies, plot holes, grammar issues, or things you just don’t like, please tell me! I’ll try to fix what I can and take your ideas into consideration. No ideas are bad, so tell me anything and everything!  
With that said, enjoy! :)

Blood always calmed Dean Winchester. The tangy sweet scent, the warmth, and the rich red color were as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

Whenever he was lost, he focused on the steady rhythm that pumped blood through his body, keeping him alive one moment longer. The sound kept him sane. 

The jail was silent, save the rattling hum of the air conditioning unit and the soft murmur of voices from a far off room. His cell was empty and cold. The hard concrete floor and metal bars seemed to dig into his skin and seep all warmth from his bones. 

Dean shivered involuntarily, silently cursing himself for appearing weak. John would have called him a baby. 

“The service here sucks!” He called out angrily. It was unlikely that anyone would hear or care, but smartass remarks were such a deeply ingrained habit that he wasn’t sure who he was without them. It was just another cover, another layer protecting the world from the reality of Dean Winchester. 

Heavy footsteps were making their way towards his cell and Dean looked up to see Agent Henriksen holding a thick file. 

“You comfortable?” Henriksen asked dryly. Dean sighed and held up his cuffed hands in a plaintive gesture. 

“Livin’ the dream, Agent.” Henriksen didn’t smile. 

“Well, soon enough you’ll be living that dream elsewhere, Winchester. You’re being transferred to Clayton tomorrow morning. I have to say, I’m not sorry to see you go.” 

“Aww, dont get sweet on me, Vicky,” Dean said leaning away from the wall to give the agent a sappy smile. Henriksen stared at him with a mixture of disgust and genuine curiosity. 

“Why don’t you care?” Dean paused, hands still and resting on his knees. His brow furrowed. 

“Are you worried about me getting bullied in prison, agent?” He asked, deflecting. The handcuffs suddenly became fascinating, as he was definitely not in the mood for a heart-to-heart with his captor. 

Henriksen shook his head in disbelief. ”I mean, why don’t you care about the people you killed? Doesn’t it bother you that you’re looking at life in prison for taking three innocent lives?” 

Dean finally met the agent’s gaze. 

“I wouldn’t have done what I did,” he said quietly. “If I’d felt bad for them. They had to die.” Silence hung in the room as Henriksen looked down at him in disbelief. The man in front of him was being honest, years of interrogation training confirming that much. Dean Winchester was many things, but surprisingly, a liar was not one of them. 

“You really believe that?” Victor broke the silence, his words almost a statement more than a question. 

Dean shrugged. He regarded the handcuffs with a wry smile, searching for a response. 

“You’d believe it too, if you’d seen the things I have.” His voice was no more than a whisper. 

Henriksen regarded the man slumped before him with something similar to pity. “It’s all in your head, Dean. You think you’re doing the right thing, but innocent people are getting killed.” 

Chains clattered as Dean let his hands drop into his lap. Bottle-green eyes met the agent’s steadily. Defiant. Arrogant, even. Dean would not be the first to look away. 

Stony silence fell. 

At some point, Henriken turned on his heel and left the prisoner in silence. 

Dean sank back onto the cement wall, ignoring the complaints of his sore back. 

This wasn’t the worst cell he’d been held in, but it certainly felt the most claustrophobic. Before, he’d always known that despite the handcuffs, he was in charge of the room. Now he felt out of control. Alone. Trapped. Guilty. 

If only they knew what he’d saved them from. 

The opposite wall stared uncaringly back at him. A lightbulb in the hallway flickered cheerfully. The cell, his body, and his mind were cold. So, he closed his eyes and imagined blood. —___-___-_-_——_-_-_-_—______-____-__—_-____—-_-_–__-___—- 

“First time in handcuffs, darling,” a clipped accent said to Dean’s right. He shifted uncomfortably, the jostling vehicle and handcuffs limiting his ability to maneuver away from the man seated next to him. 

“Far from it,” Dean grumbled under his breath. 

Flashes of soggy green and brown sped past in the window opposite him as the transport vehicle bumped down the county highway. His last glimpse of freedom was of dying fields and cloudy autumn skies. He’d kill to be driving the Impala right now, nothing but open roads and the clear blue sky in from of him. Instead, he was stuck in a cramped van with 12 other inmates, one of whom was overly chatty, being dragged every second closer to Clayton Interstate Prison. 

“The name’s Crowley, by the way,” Dean’s seatmate spoke again. 

“Didn’t ask.” 

“Touchy, are we, princess,” Crowley replied blithely. “If you don’t want to be friends you could have just said so. But...” Crowley trailed off and seemed to examine the other inmates, all of whom, Dean now noticed, were eyeing Crowley with trepidation. 

“But what, douchebag?” He snapped. Traces of apprehension were starting to crawl up his spine. 

Crowley’s slimy grin only widened. 

“But it’s good to make friends on the inside, or so I’ve heard. You might want to reconsider your stance later on when the Angels get to you.” 

“The Angels?” 

Crowley leaned towards Dean, nearly breathing the same air. Dean jerked back instinctively, but the thick shoulder of the next inmate trapped him close to Crowley’s leering face. 

“You’ll soon figure out,” Crowley growled, all pretense of friendliness gone. “That you have to pick a side eventually, and that not every side is aptly named.” 

He leaned back and returned to casually examining the other inmates. Dean reeled from the abrupt shift in demeanor. 

“Who fucking asked you?” He spat out defiantly. Crowley didn’t respond. Instead, he pointedly ignored Dean for the rest of the ride. The other inmates cowered under his gaze, and Dean spent the time wondering who exactly this man was, and why he wanted Dean on his side so badly. -___—-_-__—_—_—-_-_-_—__—___—_-_———_—— 

Miles away, in a similar transport vehicle, another man sat alone. Like Dean and his mysterious acquaintance, his hands and feet were shackled, iron chains heavy and cold as they swayed with the vehicle’s movement. Their soft clanking was the only sound in the nearly empty van, save the muted voices of the officers in the cab. 

The only difference between him and Dean, other than the empty silence, was the muzzle. It covered the lower half of his face, keeping his neck and jaw completely immobile. A metal collar snapped tight around his neck and attached to the vehicle with a short chain. A steel plate in his mouth kept him from biting off his own tongue. That, or any of the guards. 

He seemed to take up less space than such a tall man should. Dirty brown hair brushed his shoulders as he slouched in his seat. Brown eyes were downcast, yet vigilant. 

“It’s a good thing they’re moving him to Clayton,” he heard one of the guards murmur conversationally. It had taken three guards and a taser to get him into the van, but only one had been assigned to ride with the transport officer. The prisoner’s back still ached where the prongs had struck. 

“He a violent one?” 

“The most. Nearly killed Mo. Tried to light the damn building on fire a time or two. I think the shrinks gave up on him a long time ago, myself. Something just ain’t right with that kid.” 

“He looks like he could be a fucking lawyer or some shit, if he weren’t psycho. It’s a shame.” 

“Say what you will, I don’t personally give a damn. So long as Samuel Campbell stays away from me, I don’t care what the hell he does.” 

Silent shadows stretched across the van as the guard’s conversation drifted from Sam’s interest. Chains swayed steadily in the dying light. The van rumbled on, towards Clayton.


End file.
